That hand was a reminder of what Beckham had lost over eight years ago from a Variant acid attack as well as a portion of his leg. But even though his leg and hand might be artificial, the man behind those prosthetics was every bit as strong as he’d been back then. Probably even stronger now.
“Coffee?” she asked, offering her drink to him.
“Sure.”
He took a sip and directed his gaze at the water. He was legally blind in his right eye, but he had experienced some improvement thanks to the steroids and pharmaceutical cocktail she had cooked up in her lab on the island.
“You’re up early,” she said.
“Got a lot on my mind.”
“The meeting with President Ringgold?” Kate scooted close to him, feeling his warmth. “Did she tell you why she wants to meet?”
“Nope, but my gut tells me it’s political. No matter how many times I tell her that I am not cut out for that life, she encourages me to reconsider.” Beckham took another drink. “I think she wants me to challenge Senator McComb.”
Kate narrowed her brows. “But McComb is a Ringgold supporter, isn’t he?”
“Apparently not as much as she would like. Or maybe he’s not supportive of Vice President Lemke’s bid for the presidency.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t tapped you to be Lemke’s running mate,” Kate said, only half joking. The process had changed and the Vice President wouldn’t be selected until after the election now.
He didn’t respond, clearly in deep thought. Kate put a hand on his arm.
“You have done enough for your country, Reed. No need to start a second career in politics,” she said.
Selfishly, that’s what Kate believed, but her husband was a special man, and she knew there might come a time when he was needed off the island.
“What else is bothering you?” she asked, sensing that wasn’t the only thing.
“Things have been quiet on the frontier…too quiet.”
“Quiet is good. It means the Variants are dying. We can live in peace and focus on rebuilding.”
“Quiet scares me,” Beckham replied. “In war, it usually means the enemy is planning something. But I’m not just worried about Variants…with elections looming, I’m worried about what happens after President Ringgold leaves office.”
He took another drink and paused to reflect. “Her legacy and our country is at risk if the Freedom Party takes over.”
“They won’t,” Kate said confidently.
Beckham handed her the coffee mug back and stood, his prosthetic leg creaking. “I wouldn’t be too optimistic. The most recent polls show General Cornelius leading Vice President Lemke by almost four points.”
“Polls always leave room for error,” Kate said. “And that lead is well within the margin of error.”
“Well there are other signs that things aren’t looking good for the New America Coalition.”
“I know,” she admitted. “Vice President Lemke has almost as many enemies as President Ringgold does. Maybe even more.”
It wasn’t surprising to Kate considering the former admiral of the naval fleet had helped take back the country from Resistance of Tyranny (ROT) eight years ago.
“The biggest issue seems to be over the cities in the frontier,” Beckham said. “The Freedom Party is proposing the conscription of all men and women between the age of eighteen and thirty. More and more people think we should try and take the cities back instead of letting the Variants have what once was ours.”
Kate hated the thought of sending more young men and women into the meat grinder. Those that were coming of age had been just kids during the war. Parker Horn’s daughters, Tasha and Jenny, would almost be of age to serve. Police officer Jake Temper’s son, Timothy, and Donna Tufo’s son, Bo, would be able to join the military.
She shuddered at the thought of any of them being sent to the frontlines.
For a moment she fell into silence with Beckham, considering the implications of the election just three months away. The areas outside the safe zones had been abandoned after the great war, left for nature to reclaim as the Variants died off. Some human survivors lived in the lawless zones, preferring life on their own rather than in the outposts and cities.
If the Freedom Party had their way, those people would be forced out of the frontier. The cities would be bombed into oblivion, and the young would be sent to fight and die like they had in every other war.
But the human race was still teetering on the edge, and the post-war generation that included Tasha, Jenny, Bo, and Timothy couldn’t afford to be wasted.
That’s why President Ringgold had taken a more measured approach by sending in Team Ghost and other teams to take out any Variants that threatened outposts.
Fitz was out there now, Kate thought, doing what he did best—hunting down Variants.
Beckham broke the quiet between them.
“The Freedom Party is gaining support, especially with voters in the outposts that have been attacked by Variants,” he said. “People are scared.”
“They should be scared of Cornelius and the Freedom Party. It’s basically ROT in disguise, in my opinion. I guess people are forgetting ROT nearly destroyed us.”
“I wouldn’t exactly compare them with ROT, but I know what you’re saying. Some things never change, huh?” Beckham chuckled. “I think politics will outlive the human race. People will still be fighting in their graves. Can’t do anything about that.”
He brushed his hair back again.
“No, but there is something we can do about that hair,” she grinned.
“I kind of like it, to be honest.”
Kate kissed him on the cheek. “Whatever you want, my love. But I agree, no politics for now, okay?”
“No politics ever, if I have it my way.”
They watched the sunrise for a few more minutes before heading back to their house. Jake, the former New York police officer, shut the door to his house and said goodbye to his son, Timothy.
“Mornin’, Jake,” Beckham called out.
“Morning!” Jake yelled back. He started off for his guard tower post near the ferry. The vessel was waiting to take early morning workers to the town of Portland, just three miles away.
Kate liked the fact she rarely had to leave the island. She taught school here and ran her small lab. The only times she had to go to the mainland were for groceries or meetings at town hall.
Life was good.
The best it had been in a long time, but there were painful reminders of the old world everywhere. Beckham stopped at a tree that provided a canopy of green over their yard. He took a knee at the grave of his best four-legged friend.
“I miss him,” Beckham said.
Kate put a hand on his back. “Apollo lived a good, long life.”
Beckham nodded. “He was a loyal dog. The best.”
“Yes, he was.”
Reaching up, Beckham wiped a tear from his eye. They had just lost Apollo to old age a few months back. They weren’t sure how old he was when he crossed the rainbow bridge, but he had passed peacefully, surrounded by friends and family. Now he was buried next to the one female dog he had loved, a free spirited mutt he had met when they first moved here.
Kate put an arm around Beckham, and they walked around the house to the front yard. A voice called out across the road. Parker Horn, dressed in nothing but sweatpants, lifted a tattooed arm to wave from his open front door.
It was rare seeing him up this early, but Kate saw what had brought him outside. The big man smoked a homemade cigarette as Apollo’s daughter and son ran out of Horn’s house barking.
Ginger and Spark darted across the road and over to Beckham and Kate. The four-year-old German Shepherd mixes belonged to Horn’s girls, Tasha and Jenny.
Beckham grinned as he knelt to play with the dogs. It was good to see him so happy. She wanted to feel that way, too, but her gut wouldn’t let her.
Something was changing on the frontier, and
it wasn’t just the shadowy Variant forces. With President Ringgold’s second term just months away from ending, the country faced the uncertainty of a new leader.
The human race had avoided near extinction once, but this time she wasn’t sure they could dodge another bullet if the voters decided to elect Cornelius and support his march back to war.
***
Master Sergeant Joe “Fitz” Fitzpatrick stood at the top of a hill overlooking Ellicott City. Elms and dogwoods blazed with the colors of late autumn. His carbon-fiber blades creaked ever so slightly as he adjusted his weight to pivot for a better view.
It was hard for him to believe he’d lost his flesh-and-blood legs so long ago in Iraq, long before the Variants were even a nightmare on this planet.
But now his prosthetics were as natural to him as his muscles and nerves had once been. Maybe even better. At least, good enough to propel him toward their enemies.
Somewhere out there, an Alpha Variant hid in the shadows with its kin. Team Ghost had the mission to hunt it down and locate the three humans the beasts had kidnapped from Outpost Patapsco Valley just over twenty miles away.
Chances were good all three were already dead, but Team Ghost wouldn’t give up until they found them. For the past eight years, they had run missions into the frontier and lawless zones to do exactly that—find and kill Variants and rescue any humans that were snatched by the beasts.
A loose wooden plank on the church next to him rattled. Chips of white paint fluttered away like dust in a gust of wind that rustled his uniform.
“Apollo would’ve loved a day like this,” Fitz said.
The dog had retired several years ago to live out its final days with Beckham and Kate. Fitz had considered asking for Ginger or Spark to be added to the team, but their fate was as pets, not warriors, and the girls had fallen in love with them anyways.
Footsteps crunched over the gravel and Sergeant First Class Jeni Rico joined Fitz at the lookout. She smiled as she chomped on stale gum. Strands of pink hair under the rim of her helmet rustled in the wind. She always found a way to figuratively and literally make things more colorful.
They had fought together and remained lovers for the past eight years. Through all of the battles, heartbreak, and loss, they had found a balance of sorts in their relationship.
But Fitz still worried about losing her every time they came out here. He knew loss well. It haunted him. His brothers had been taken from him by friendly fire in a war long before the Variants. His parents were lost in a tragic car accident.
Over the years he had lost more brothers and sisters in the war against the Variants than he cared to count. A painful stabbing coursed through his gut anytime he thought of Rico falling in battle.
Fitz had been close to the edge many times in his life, especially around the time Beckham found him at Fort Bragg. The man had saved his life by giving him a gun and a purpose. Rico had given him even more.
By her side, he actually had optimism. Optimism that there was something worth fighting for. She had taught him how to strive for a better future for the rest of the world—and for each other.
Their time together also meant she could read him like an open book.
“What’s wrong, Fitzie?” she said.
“Just thinkin’ of Apollo.”
Rico looked toward the lake and then chuckled. “Remember him shaking that dirty ass water all over us after he jumped into a swamp on his last mission.”
“Oh yeah,” Fitz said.
“At least he’s at rest where Beckham and Kate are,” Sergeant Yas Dohi said in his stoic tone. The Navajo man stroked his gray goatee that was far longer than regulation length.
“He sure earned his long rest, and I’m glad he enjoyed his golden years in a place free of monsters,” Rico said.
Fitz nodded in agreement. “Me, too. He was a good boy.”
The dog had hunted more than his fair share of monsters, but there were plenty of beasts that still dwelled in places like this—apocalyptic landscapes that posed dangers with every step.
Telephone poles leaned sideways and lines hung between the poles, draped over the muddy brown water flowing through the street. Brick buildings sported dark windows with shards of glass like the jagged teeth of Variants.
Fitz remembered this city as having a scenic downtown. A perfect place for day trippers to explore the antique and boutique stores before stopping for a beer and sandwich at the brewery.
Would have been a good place to take Rico on a date night, he thought.
“So this is Ellicott City, huh?” Specialist Justin Mendez said, moving to stand beside Fitz.
Mendez’s thick black eyebrows arched like caterpillars. He paused.
“Holy shit,” he said, raising a scope to his eye.
Fitz signaled for Team Ghost to hunch down.
“You got a hostile?” Fitz asked.
Mendez lowered the rifle. “No, man, it’s a ’69 Mustang GT,” he mumbled. “Damn shame to see a car like that all rusted.”
“Jesus, you scared me, man,” said Rico, rising back to her feet.
“I had a car like that,” Corporal Bobby Ace said.
“Seriously?” Mendez asked.
Ace nodded. “More like a ’67 Camaro, but basically the same thing.”
“Same thing my ass, old man.” Mendez shook his head while staring at Ace.
Ace laughed a deep sound that welled up from his large belly. A scraggly white beard hung from his chin shaped like the machete he kept on his belt. Wrinkles formed canyons around his leathery skin.
Sometimes Fitz was shocked the guy could keep up with the rest of them. His age and weight would have kept him from even being considered for Delta Force back in the day, but men with his fighting experience were a rare breed nowadays.
Team Ghost was lucky to have him.
Ace was an artist with his custom mag-fed Mossberg 500 shotgun and had the killer instinct Fitz was looking for. He selected the corporal to replace men he had lost in an ambush by an Alpha.
Men like Staff Sergeant Blake Tanaka and Sergeant Hugh Stevenson.
Fitz shook off the memory and focused on the final member of Team Ghost. Specialist Will Lincoln held an M4A1 across his chest. He directed eyes as dark as his skin at Fitz. The thin young man had joined the team the same time as Ace.
What his frame lacked in muscle, he made up for in a mind quick and sharp as a Variant’s claws. He also provided comedic relief and music in dark times.
“You girls and your cars,” he grumbled.
“Girls?” Mendez asked, raising one of his brows.
“Just messin’, brother,” Lincoln said. “So, ya’ll ready to get this hunt started or what?”
“Take in some water, we move out soon,” Fitz said.
He looked out over the city again, glad they had been sent here instead of Baltimore. Compared to the bigger city, Ellicott City was in decent condition, even with the flooding. America’s urban centers were largely decaying wastelands, destroyed by the effort to push the Variants out of the country, especially on the West Coast.
Most of their missions were to places in the Midwest and East Coast now that the Western part of the country had almost completely been destroyed and abandoned.
Humanity abandoned many of the major cities and left them to the abominations that haunted them, still thirsting for fresh protein. Rumor had reached Team Ghost that the Freedom Party wanted to destroy even more of what remained, including places like this where the Variants still posed a threat.
Fitz was a soldier, but he also had an opinion and had given it to Beckham the last time they talked. Much like national parks had once been, places like this needed to be protected.
He took in a breath before giving the order.
All it takes is all you got, he thought.
“Dohi you take point, Ace you got rear guard,” Fitz said. “Stay sharp, Ghost.”
It was the usual setup, since Dohi was the best tracker on the team, and
Ace had never let anyone or anything sneak up on them.
The team moved out—all business now that they had passed into Variant territory. With the sun still high in the sky, they kept low and close to cover, their weapons shouldered and roving for targets.
Dohi moved slowly, ears perked and eyes moving as he stepped through the ankle-high water. Fitz kept behind him, scanning the interior of the stores and checking every window for any sign of hostiles. Deep within the next store he saw pangs of sunlight reflect off the costume jewelry around the neck of a mannequin.
“Jesus,” Rico said. “Thought that was a person at first.”
“Nope, but that was,” Lincoln said. He raised his rifle, aiming at the spot that had caught his interest across the road. The bottom half of a human skeleton hung out of a window, mold climbing up from the flooded street as if reaching toward it.
Fitz motioned for the team to check it out. When they got to the second-floor window, he stepped underneath to see that the flesh was completely gone. Tooth marks marred the dried bone. Some were snapped like twigs, the marrow sucked dry.
“Guess we know we’re in the right place,” Rico said dryly.
Fitz looked one last time at the skeletal remains. This was the worst part of tracking down rogue Variants. Team Ghost almost always arrived too late to help.
But they would find the abominations responsible.
According to the reports they’d received, this one was a wily Alpha. Smarter than the average grunt beast judging by how he’d been sneaking in and out of Outpost Patapsco Valley without any of the guards getting a clear shot at it.
Fitz flashed hand signals and the team continued between the brick buildings. A flurry of leaves rustled over the street; flashes of orange and brown, landed in the water, floating away with the slight current at their feet.
The crisp scent of autumn mixed with the odor of must and mold drifted from the buildings. But he didn’t detect the sour odor of a Variant.
“We got another skinny,” Mendez said. With his rifle, he pointed to a second corpse propped up against a bench next to a toppled garbage can. Flags of ripe flesh hung off the bones.
Extinction Shadow Page 3
